Every Bride Needs a Groom (3 page)

“So glad you made it.” I wiped my hands on my napkin and then reached to pat her arm. “We were getting worried.”

“Blame it on the Methodists.” She unfolded her napkin and draped it over her lap.

Mama looked perplexed. “The Methodists made you late?”

“Yes.” Queenie gestured to the waitress, then turned back to Mama. “The Methodists are having their annual craft fair tomorrow. The whole church is flipped upside down. The
WOP-pers had no place to pray, and there's nothing more annoying to a group of prayer warriors than missing out on an opportunity to pound on heaven's door.”

“But that was all taken care of in advance,” Mama said. “You ladies were supposed to meet at the Presbyterian church this week. Bessie May told me that—”

“Nope.” Queenie put her hand up as if to bring the conversation to a halt. “Decided to stay put at the Methodist church, even under the circumstances. I do not believe the Presbyterian church is an appropriate place to meet for prayer.”

She turned her attention to the waitress long enough to ask for a glass of tea, no sugar. Queenie was the only one in the family who didn't take sugar in her tea. Her concerns about type 2 diabetes kept the sugar at bay.

I found myself distracted by what she'd just said. “So, the Presbyterians can join your prayer group, but you can't pray at their church?” I asked.

“Exactly.” Queenie nodded and reached for a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table. “Discussion ended, please and thank you.”

“Probably best to change the subject.” Pop gave me a “can it!” look, sticking a piece of sliced beef in his mouth.

“I do hope you've saved some of that barbecue for me, son. You know how I love it.” Queenie took her fork and stabbed a piece of meat on his plate, then took a bite. “Mmm. That fixes everything.”

“Even the brouhaha with the Presbyterians?” I asked.

She gave me a “let it go, Katie” look, but I couldn't get past her earlier comments. I wanted to ask, “What's your beef with the Presbyterians?” so we could get to the bottom of this once and for all. From the look on my father's face, though, I knew this wasn't the time or place to press the issue.

“Wait. I thought it was the Methodists we were mad at.” Jasper looked up from his plate, his brow wrinkled.

“We're not
mad
at anyone. I'm just irritated because the Methodists made it difficult to pray.” Queenie slapped his hand as he reached across her to grab a slice of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. “Discussion over. Now, let's all just get busy doing what we came here to do.”

“Gossip about folks from other denominations?” Dewey asked.

Queenie scowled at him. “We don't gossip. We share our concerns. And if I can't share them with my own family, who can I share them with?”

“She has a point there, you must admit.” Pop snagged a piece of bread and tossed it to Dewey, who caught it in midair. Queenie let out an unladylike grunt and shook her head.

The conversation shifted to baseball, and that inevitably led to Mama asking me why Casey hadn't shown up yet. “Where is that boy, anyway?” She glanced toward the door as if expecting my boyfriend to materialize. He usually joined us on Friday nights, as did Dewey's on-again, off-again girlfriend, Mary Anne. These days, Mary Anne was more off than on. I was secretly grateful for that. I'd never thought she was good enough for my brother, to be honest.

“He can't come tonight,” I said. “I think he's working or something.”

“I sure hope he's able to take some time off when you two . . .” Mama's voice lingered off, and she patted my knee as if she felt sorry for me. “I mean,
if
you two . . .” She shook her head and took a bite of her salad. “Isn't this the yummiest new dressing? I'll have to ask Gretel Ann what she puts in it. Mmm.”

And that pretty much ended her conversation about Casey.
Not that I minded. She hadn't hurt my feelings, anyway. Folks were surely wondering why he seemed to be taking his time. But I didn't need to focus on Casey tonight. I had to whip together an essay guaranteed to catch the eye—and heart—of Nadia James, the dress designer from Cosmopolitan Bridal.

What could I say to win her over? Would I tell her about my small-town life? Convince her that the dress had to be perfect for a small-town-girl-goes-uptown-for-her-wedding-day event? Would I share the story of how Casey and I had grown up together and were destined to be man and wife from the time we were children?

Man and wife. Hmm. I caught a glimpse of my parents, who gazed at each other with genuine sweetness. One day that would be Casey and me. We'd sit next to each other at Sam's, elderly parents at our side, gabbing with our children about hernias and hemorrhoids. We'd talk about baseball and reminisce about Queenie's obsession with the Presbyterians.

One day.

In the meantime, I'd better wrap up this meal so I could get home to write an award-winning essay before the clock struck midnight.

Listen to advice, but follow your heart.

Conway Twitty

I
made it through the meal without overeating, something that rarely happened at Sam's. My thoughts were elsewhere this evening, firmly fixed on the essay I needed to write when I arrived home. My distraction must've raised a red flag with family members. Several times Mama glanced my way as if to ask, “What's up with you, girl?” I just smiled and opened my bridal magazine, scouring the pictures of dress designs. Oh, the dreaming a girl could do with so many options at her disposal!

About halfway into the dessert round, Jasper tossed a chunk of bread at me. It hit me on the forehead. “You okay over there, Katie?”

I picked up the piece of bread and popped it into my mouth. “Hmm?”

“Readin' that magazine again?” Dewey rolled his eyes.

“Mm-hmm.” I didn't look up for long because a shabby chic gown on page 67 had caught my eye. Lovely. I could almost picture myself wearing something similar on my wedding day. Simple. Small-town. Country-ish, even. Add a nice pair of cowgirl boots and the ensemble would be complete. If I opted to go that route, anyway. I'd have to ask Casey's opinion on the whole shabby chic thing. He might not be keen on it.

Jasper stuck a huge chunk of dinner roll in his mouth, then spoke around it. “Want my opinion?”

“What's that?” I closed the magazine and looked at him.

“Run.” He nodded. “As fast and as far as you can.”

I pressed the magazine into my oversized purse and took a sip of my tea. “Puh-leeze. That's your plan, not mine.”

“Yep, it's my plan, all right.” He took another bite of bread. “But you would be wise to follow my lead, Katie.” His expression grew more serious. “Live your life. Don't fret about getting married right now. Have fun. That's what I'm doing.”

“You'll settle down someday, Jasper.” Mama wiped her lips with her napkin, which smeared her lipstick all around her mouth. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.” She glanced at me. “And don't you be discouraging Katie here. She needs a good man in her life.”

Weird, the way she'd phrased that. Casey was a good man.

My grandmother nodded. “Yes, Katie should get married and settle down.”

“Settle down?” Seriously? Could I get any more settled?

Queenie pointed at Jasper. “And you, young man, need a swift kick in the backside for driving like a maniac in the parking lot. I heard all about it from Missy Frasier, who pulled in
right behind you. You scared the poor girl to death. She got so worked up telling me about it that she had to take a pill.”

“But I . . .” Jasper hung his head and went back to eating.

Queenie turned to Beau. “You stay as sweet as you are, honey bun. You hear me? Don't ever break Queenie's heart by falling off the straight and narrow.”

“Oh, no ma'am. I won't fall, I promise.” Beau dropped some crumbs from his fork as he scooped another piece of cake into his mouth.

“Stick close to the family and you'll do just fine.” My grandmother gave him a tender smile as she passed him a napkin. “There's no place like home, after all.”

“Why would he want to move away?” Pop glanced up from his food long enough to pose the question. “His mama waits on him hand and foot. Does everything for him.”

“Beau's my baby.” Mama's face lit into the loveliest smile. “Can't help spoiling the baby.”

This garnered a snort from Jasper.

And me. “He's twenty-two, Mama,” I argued. “Twenty-
two
.”

“Wouldn't matter if he was fifty-two. He'd still be my baby boy.” She turned her attention to Beau. “Want Mama to slice up another piece of bread for you, honey?”

He nodded. “Yes, thank you, Mama.”

She went to work carving out a large chunk of bread, which led to a loud groan from the others at the table. Beau was too busy staring at the bread to notice.

“Want me to butter this for you too, baby?” she asked him.

“Yep. Thanks. You're the best, Mama.”

“Bless you for that, son. A mother needs to feel needed.” Mama slathered his bread with butter, then addressed the rest of us. “See? Beau will never leave me. He's gonna stay put right here in Fairfield . . . forever.”

“Not sure if that's a blessing or a curse,” Pop whispered and then gave me a wink.

“Why would anyone want to leave? Small-town living is good for the soul.” Queenie took a sip of her tea and leaned back in her chair, knocking her cane off in the process.

“Don't I know it.” Pop rose and fetched my grandmother's cane, then hung it back on its perch. “Give me a small town any day. No rushing through traffic. No running late to catch the subway to work. No fighting the crowds on downtown streets.”

“No stress.” Mama passed Beau's slice of bread to him. “Well, other than the stoplight going out at Main and Elm, but we don't get a lot of cars through that intersection anyway, and Mayor Luchenbacher promised to fix it soon.”

“I want to get the heck out of Dodge,” Jasper said. “There's only so much of this good clean air I can stand. I still want to go to Houston and look for work there. It's the best place on the planet to find a job, and the cost of living is better than most anywhere else.”

“Houston?” Mama paled as if she was hearing all of this for the first time. Which she wasn't. “Oh, but it's not safe in the city, honey.” Her brow wrinkled. “So much crime.”

“We have crime here too,” Jasper said. “Didn't you hear that Bobby Jo Henderson got arrested for tipping cows in Doc Henderson's field?”

“He wasn't arrested. The sheriff gave him a warning. And that was just in fun.”

“Try telling that to the cows.” My father jabbed me with his arm, which sent my fork flying out of my hand, across the table, and onto the floor next to Widow Harrison at the next table. I hollered out a quick apology, but before I could remedy the problem myself, the waitress showed up.

“Saw the whole thing,” she said. She passed a clean fork
to me and made her way to a nearby table to clear it for the next guests.

“I could never live in the city,” Mama said. “You can't leave your doors and windows open.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Dewey dove into an animated story about a skunk wandering into Reverend Bradford's house through the doggie door.

“Well, that's not commonplace,” Mama argued. “And I'd rather have a skunk in my house any day than a burglar.”

“I might rather have the burglar.” Pop laughed. “Less mess to clean up afterward.”

Mama rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath.

“Hey, doesn't Aunt Alva still live in Dallas?” Beau licked the butter off of his fingers as he glanced Queenie's way.

You could've heard a pin drop at that question. My grandmother glared at him. “We don't talk about Aunt Alva.” Queenie dabbed at her lips, smearing her lipstick in the process.

“Why not?” Beau looked perplexed.

I gave him a “shush” look. I'd never figured out the story about Queenie's older sister, but this clearly wasn't the time to ask.

“So, we can't talk about the Presbyterians and we can't talk about Aunt Alva.” Dewey chuckled. “I guess that limits the conversation to Doc Henderson's cows and the criminal element taking over the city of Fairfield.”

“Criminal element, pooh.” Mama shook her head. “Such an exaggeration.”

The expression on Queenie's face showed her relief that we'd switched gears from talking about Alva. “I still say it's safer here,” she said. “You couldn't pay me enough to live in the city. We might have a problem with skunks, but those city folks have to worry about snakes.”

“Snakes in the city?” I asked.

“Yes.” My grandmother's eyes widened. “They're small. They get in tiny spaces. City dwellers have snakes in their homes and don't even know it.”

“Only the kind you need to unstop your toilet,” Pop said. “I can sell you one of those at the hardware store.”

“Speaking of toilets . . .” Mama took a teensy-tiny bite of her lemon pound cake. “When you live in the city, you can't even flush your toilet without the folks downstairs knowing about it. Folks live on top of one another in condos and such.”

“Kind of like we do at our house right now?” Dewey asked.

“Oh, that reminds me, I need to put a new handle on that upstairs toilet,” Pop said. “It's been acting finicky.”

Queenie rolled her eyes. “My point is, people are pressed in like sardines in the city. No space to move around or have privacy.”

“Privacy?” Jasper snorted. “We have that here?”

“In theory,” Pop said. “In theory.”

“Good luck finding a Dairy Queen in the city,” Mama added. “I hear they're not building them in metropolitan areas anymore.”

This led to a lengthy discussion about ice cream, which caused Pop to say that he needed a piece of coconut pie. He returned moments later with a slice of chocolate pie in his right hand and a slice of coconut in his left. “Couldn't make up my mind,” he said. “Oh, and Marie, they just brought out fresh lemon pound cake. You should have another piece.”

“Oh, I shouldn't. I really shouldn't.” Mama remained in her seat for a moment and then bounded to the dessert table.

“There she goes again,” Queenie said. “Marie and her pound cake.”

The conversation carried on long after Mama returned to
the table, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I couldn't stop thinking about the contest and the essay I needed to write. What should I say? Should I mention our quaint little town? The church sanctuary where I planned to say my “I dos”? Should I talk about Casey and how we met at the ballpark when I was running for cheerleader of the Little League team?

“You okay over there, Katie?” Queenie asked.

“Oh, yes ma'am. I'm just . . .”
Strategizing. Writing a letter in my
head.

“Thinking about that new window display at the hardware store, I'll bet.” Pop winked. “I know how much you love that.”

“Oh, I do.” Changing out the displays was my very favorite part of working at the store. Well, that and the customers. But my mind was definitely on other things.

By the time I arrived home from Sam's, I'd sketched out the whole letter in my mind. I knew just what to say. I waited until the whole family was tucked away for the night before grabbing my laptop and composing the essay. It didn't take long to lay out my plea for the dream dress. After all, I'd been planning for my big day all of my life. I knew just how I wanted things to go.

The essay—all five hundred words—came together seamlessly. I pushed the Send button at exactly 11:17, just forty-three minutes shy of the midnight deadline. Whew! Talk about cutting it close.

I couldn't help but smile as I reread my essay after sending it in. It sounded pretty good. No, really good. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was God-inspired.

God-inspired.

Just like my relationship with Casey. I smiled again as I thought about my fiancé. Well, soon-to-be-fiancé. If he knew I'd penned this essay, would it hurry him up? Would he tickle
my ears with the question meant to make my heart sing? Would our happily ever after start sooner rather than later?

For the first time all evening it occurred to me that Casey hadn't called. I'd received a text early in the afternoon, but nothing tonight. Nothing whatsoever, not even our usual “Love you, sleep tight” text. I double-checked my phone, just to be sure. Nope. Nothing.

Oh well. He was probably at his house this very minute, scheming up a way to propose. And wouldn't he be thrilled to receive the news that I'd saved a bundle by winning the perfect gown?

If I won.

Oh, but I would. I knew it in my heart of hearts. This was my answer, my solution. I would win the dress, walk the aisle, and live out my forever with my small-town sweetheart. We'd raise our kiddos in Fairfield. Casey would coach Little League alongside Pop. I'd take over the choir at the Baptist church when Mama retired. And we'd all live happily ever after.

I hoped.